


The Wrong Year

by Slim Shady (honklust)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Kissing, flowery bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honklust/pseuds/Slim%20Shady
Summary: The engine’s a quiet purr under the sound of the radio pumping out some song by the Decemberists or Fleet Foxes or some shit, Dave doesn’t know for sure, and like, he’d pull out his phone and Shazam it but he’s kind of distracted because the rain pattering the windows is really nice, and the world is so quiet here.It’s kind of jarring, how calm everything is. Like a scene out of a movie.





	The Wrong Year

**Author's Note:**

> Does this count as a song fic? Are song-fics still cool?

The engine’s a quiet purr under the sound of the radio pumping out some song by the Decemberists or Fleet Foxes or some shit, Dave doesn’t know for sure, and like, he’d pull out his phone and Shazam it but he’s kind of distracted because the rain pattering the windows is really nice, and the world is so quiet here. 

It’s kind of jarring, how calm everything is. Like a scene out of a movie.

She’s sitting beside him in the driver’s seat, tapping her fingernails against the wheel as her other hand is busy with the GPS on her phone, trying to get a signal, trying to figure out where the hell they are. They’d been parked in the back of the lot for maybe fifteen minutes now – neither of them eager to get out and venture into the little grocery store for snacks with the way the weather was acting. 

There was a purpose to this trip, even if it didn’t have a definite end point just yet. They’d been picking random locations and heading towards them for a few days now, but this was the first time they’d really gotten lost. 

The street lamp outside was casting yellow light in through the windows of the little hatchback they’d rented, raindrops painting messy little grey shadows over her cheeks, highlighting the gold in her hair, making her look like a painting. Romantic. Weird.

Rose looks up, casts a lavender glance in his direction and raises one eyebrow. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Uh.” He stops, his brain short circuits, face heating up. He’d been on-and-off staring at her for the whole trip, but when she called him out on it he always got flustered. “I was just, like, yanno. There was something. Uh. There’s nothing else to look at.” Nice, Strider. Save of the fucking century right there.

She laughs at him, the sound echoing in the little car as the chorus of the catchy little indie song continues – melancholy and wanting – and Dave leans across the cupholder in between them and kisses her on her open mouth, lips on teeth.

It’s messy and impulsive and starts with a set of confused, desperate little huffs, but Rose is quick to curl a hand in his hair, drop her phone to her lap. It’s so warm in the car, even as the external thermostat on the dash reminds them that it’s creeping down into the forties outside. They’re safe here – a cozy little microcosm, cut off from the world and their pasts and the cold rain outside that keeps tap-tap-tapping against the windows, a gentle chorus.

Dave’s not sure if he’s doing it right, but then again, neither is Rose, and they both feel their way along blindly – sometimes with too much teeth and a little too much tongue but eventually it falls into a gentle rhythm, their lips mashed together as the song switches to the next one – faster paced, a little more upbeat, and then suddenly Dave is suffocating under every single emotion he’s been avoiding since they left.

Happiness – the thrill of seeing that glittering, dingy high-rise fade into the background, the sun like a dripping egg yolk hanging in the rearview mirror. The high he felt watching the city streets turn into desert and then desert into trees – watching the speedometer creep higher as the miles between him and his past grew longer. He had been giddy on the entire experience – gas station food and borrowing a few of Rose’s t-shirts, making jokes in person with someone for the first time in his life. So fucking ecstatic just to be with her, just to be away from the heat lines rising off the pavement like it wasn’t the middle of fucking October. 

But there is fear, aching underneath the joy, of course– fear that one day he’ll wake up and she won’t be beside him, that he’ll open his eyes and all of this will be a dream, that he’ll have nothing but cold steel and hot concrete and stale Doritos to look forward to until he’s no longer able to look at anything ever again. 

He’s terrified of going back, but maybe even more terrified of going forward. He’s scared of what he’s feeling, scared of the potentiality of eternity, of escape, of the unknown. Home may have meant danger, but danger was familiar and Rose was new and terrifying and held so much volatile potential. Making his own choices had never been allowed before, and he didn’t know how to start. 

He’s crying when she pulls away - bewildered, quiet weeping that he didn’t realize was even happening until Rose’s mouth is no longer pressed flush with his, until there’s no skin for him to crush himself against.

He’s an ugly crier – teeth bared and forehead wrinkled as a stupid, pathetic sob spills out of his mouth. He tries to hide it, rushes to recede back into the safety of his seat, but she’s got his face in between both her warm, soft palms and she smiles at him – all smeared lipstick and trembling, watery eyes. 

She’s crying too, a little, but she’s looking him in the eyes, right over the rim of his slipped-down sunglasses, and there’s something in that look that speaks to his very heart, reaches deep inside him and drags up another pathetic, chest-rattling sob. 

In that moment, with the radio playing in the background and the street lamp illuminating them both in gold, they come to a wordless conclusion. 

They are safe. They love each other. And they are never going back home. 


End file.
